Going South
by Messypeaches
Summary: Kisame backstory. It's dark, and violent, and there's het sex. Just warning you.


Title: Going South.

Set: Before Akatsuki, after leaving mist.

Rating: M for mature.

Het-rape fic. Kisame's not a good person. People should recall that.

One shot, complete

He headed south. Way south, till the seasons were just generic names for groups of months. Till the ice and the water were untrustworthy and you drank cheap watery beer or boiled the water for an hour or summoned it yourself. Because if you didn't you'd spend the next day vomiting out your ass and hating life.

Traveled until the sun was high and baking and his skin broke out in dark near-purple freckles.

He'd run out of money, eventually. So he stole when he could. And that was, often.

Found a town called Lè yuán, which apparently mean Paradise, and only proved that people liked irony in a name.

He bought a brightly colored thin scarf and wrapped it around his head, covered his ears. He had his head gear, of course, that flat metal shield with the three wavey lines, one straight one. But why advertise? Just cause Zabuza was hell bent on being the continents most wanted and well paid missing-shinobi...

Kisame just wanted...

He didn't know. Right now, just drifting. Wearing a henge that felt like a old pair of sweat pants. Just skin color, mostly. Hide the gills. Leave the eyes and teeth, why not?

Weirder looking people out there than this henge, at least.

The only problem, he thought, with a mental sigh, is that this far south it was boring.

There were no shinobi 'cause no one down here had the money or the motive to hire 'em. Not many exports, not many imports. Just, poor all around, really. Some money from drugs, and in a year or ten, shinobi might care, but right now a few small fields of mind altering cactus were the closest they had to a cash crop.

He had another bite of heavily limed and salted fish. Fresh enough. Chemically cooked, at least. Room temperature. Bits of pepper and root, something crunched and he watched a rather pretty girl taking abuse from some guy. Big guy. Little lady.

He piled more fish on his stale cracker and munched away for a good ten minutes watching it like his own personal soap opera. The man was getting grabbier. Louder. Drowning out the tinny record player chained up behind the counter.

Kisame'd wished the guy'd shut up. Thought about shutting him up but...

There was no but, was there? It felt like the day he'd decided to leave, that same, lifting of limitations. He didn't have a mission. The only thing he could endanger by calling attention to himself was himself. And that was his own business, wasn't it?

"Oy!" he said, lobbing a loaded cracker at the back of the guys head. "You two. Either fuck off t'gether or fuck off alone, but shuddup," he said, leaning back on the bar, stool under him teetering solidly on two legs.

"Stay outta this, asshole," the guy started. The woman tried to sidle away, and he backhanded her.

She started to cry.

"Seriously, I'll kill you if you don't stop making noise," Kisame said. "Or making her make noise."

The man made a gesture that Kisame could only assume was obscene. It involved three fingers and a sort of arm thrust.

Kisame sighed and finally slide off his stood, bringing his beer with him. Kinda a piss beer, really, but that was alright.

It would take longer to write the fight than it took to happen. Let it suffice to say that the man didn't leave like he should have. He left though, in the end. Arm and face broken, but still able to run in a hurry.

Kisame finished his beer, set the glass down, picked the girl up by the scruff of the neck and set her in a chair. "If that was your boyfriend I'd suggest killing yourself," he said, dryly. "eat a few pounds of those weird ass cactus. Cactus. Whatever the fuck the plural is. You'll probably wake up dead. And stop crying, it's unbecoming."

The record was skipping. He went behind the counter to fiddle with it, and the crowd started talking again.

Not there there was much of a crowd.

Even the flies seemed bored with the scene. Kisame slowly ate his way through his bucket of fish-salsa or whatever it was called, though he slowed on the beer. He'd never been really drunk before. Never. Didn't really know what'd it do to him. Other jounin'd gotten tore up, of course, but it was. Varied. Some got weepy. Some got violent. Some got. Lovey. He didn't want to find out he got suicidal or something stupid.

Eventually he decided he should probably say something to the battered woman.

Mostly because she'd taken the stool next to him, and was not looking at him with a piercing intensity that was worse, in many ways, than if she'd just made eye contact.

"What?" He asked, finding a bit of tentacle and wondering if it was worth prodding for the rest of the squid. Fucker was chewy as rubber, so, no.

"I just, wanted to say thank you," she said, with a stammer to faint for text to capture. "He wasn't who I thought he was," she added. "You must think I'm foolish."

"Yep," Kisame agreed. "Want some fish?"

She shook her head, eyes still glued to the counter.

He reached over, took a half full drink from a man who wasn't paying enough attention, and nudged it over towards her. She took it, but he thought it must be mostly to hold the glass in her hands.

He finished his food, paid. Stood to go, and paused when her hand found his wrist, light. Palm moist. "Wait, won't you?"

"Scared he's loitering outside? Did you miss the part where the bones in his arm were trying to crawl free?" Kisame said, looking at her.

"I mean... I mean to thank you," she said, and her voice was high and slightly nervous but she managed to step close enough that her breast were trying to cradle his elbow.

He snorted. "There are other currencies," he said, pulling his arm away.

"I don't have, much of the other sorts," she said, swallowing. "And he had friends."

If he was the main character, Kisame thought, he'd nobly defend her and refuse the sex.

But there was something in her smell besides the obvious, something in her, her essence? The part of her scent that made her HER, that he liked. It was milky and strong, a calcium warm smell.

And it was something to do, after all. Boring ass town.

"You don't have to," he offered. Not the main character, but he could give her an out. "Could try asking nice."

"Please," she managed, but it wasn't 'please help me'.

He let the silence loiter a moment. "Alright then. You got a room without sand-fleas?"

She did.

*****

She had a yellow dress. It was a little faded, he noted. Mended in a spot or two. It didn't have sleeves, but it had a sort of collar. High waist, skirt to a few inches above her knees.

Sandals with a lot of straps. One of the straps looked like it was cutting in a little.

Brown hair. A little dirty. Everything about her was like that, though. A little dirty, little worn. He could probably span her waist with his hands.

That might be an exaggeration. Even considering how big his hands were.

He tried it anyway, pulling her gently into an alley.

She had, nice eyes, he decided. A bit pale, maybe. Like green glass that'd been on the beach too long.

There was a lot of that, broken glass ground smooth on the shores. Hell, he was wearing a chunk that might have been a bottle bottom in a past, on a leather thong around his neck now. He'd liked the look of it. It was clattering with his metal tags comfortably even now against his shirt.

Or green tea on a white saucer.

No, no, he mentally went with sea glass when she bit her lip, turning in his hands but not pulling away. Her mouth started to open, she started to speak. He put a finger to her lips, felt his mouth quirk in a grin. "Sex for protection, right?" he asked, just to make her say it.

She turned slightly pink then nodded. "Just, just till morning," she said, "That's when," she stopped when his finger pressed a little.

"Don't really care," Kisame said, before she insisted on telling him anyway. His fingertip felt damp. He dragged it down her chin, then her throat, past the brightly colored knotted string with it's tiny beads that made up her necklace. Undid a button on her dress one handed, then another, stopping when he had off white cotton exposed. Not really a bra so much as a cleverly sewn and very small white shirt that held her breasts out of the way.

It was amazing what you could learn to do one handed when you got injured in class.

She swallowed and shifted to be more in his shadow, away from the street they'd entered on. "Here?"

"We could," he said in an agreeable tone, eyes tracing the trails sweat was making as it crept down her neck, soaking into white cotton.

Probably running down her back too, soaking into panties, his mind commented and his libido gave a shudder that he made his spine ignore.

"But this is where I'm staying," he tilted his head at a shuttered door holding onto the frame by pure determination at the end of the alley. "Sex is usually better when you're not gonna be interrupted. Least I think so. And since it's what you're paying with, my opinions on the subject counts double in a vote."

Kisame put a hand on her stomach, on the dress, and slide it up, over a breast, to her neck. "Sides. I'm a slightly wanted man. Always a good idea to check for weapons," he said, in the leering tone of someone who's got a good reason to cope a feel and quite enjoys using it. Even if the goods being felt were already paid for, as it stood.

She shivered, a little, and he laughed. "You've got terrible taste in men."

"I know," she said, voice almost rueful as her shoulders hit the wall. "I don't know why, ever since,"

"Annnd we're back to me not caring," he said, a tiny bit curtly. "I'm not inflicting my life story on you, am I?" He pulled her away from the wall, hand sliding to the small of her back, guiding her down the alley to the door.

The room inside was tiny, but clean. A small dark oven of a room that became a small, bright, whitewashed oven of a room when he dragged curtain's open. Laundry that criss-cross the alley outside stopped some direct sun but not a lot.

Kisame eyed his sword as it sagged in the corner of the room, wrapped, sweltering under the task of holding up his jacket. There was a small table with some papers on it, two books, and a basin. And a bed.

And now her, and when he got around to stepping in the room it was going to be crowded. He kicked his boots off, first, leaning in the door. Belt and belt pouch onto the table with a toss and a clatter. Then he was taking up what felt like all the extra space in the room, right behind her, hands catching her hips. Nose in her hair. That smell again. Like baked goods, but nothing too sweet about it.

He tried to pigeon-hole the precise thing she most smelled like while his hands found her buttons again. He skipped a few by her navel and undid them down to the hem, yellow fabric wadding in his hands. Her hair had a trace of a curl to it.

"Have any boundaries I should know about? Hate it when people squawk in the middle without warning," he said, lips then teeth finding her ear.

She shuddered again. "I, I don't know. Do you have any likes?"

"A multitude," he said, footing a foot against her strap wrapped ankle and pushing it to the side. He placed a hand on her belly, pressed her back to his chest. "Might see a few, if I have you till the morning," he added. Her scent warmed, marginally. Not quiet warmed. Got a little, richer. Stronger. The hand slide down, till he was palming her pubic mound through underwear that felt like cotton. His thumb hooked int he band, but he didn't pulled them down.

Damp against his fingertips. She swallowed, hand finding his wrist. "Okay," she said.

Okay what, exactly? Personally he thought that agreeing when he hadn't asked a question, or really done anything that interesting was a bit weird but, ah well. His other hand was pulling her bra down, just freeing one breast, for now, half hidden by the yellow dress. Salt on those finger's now, from the cloth, from the skin trapped sweat. Really needed something with more support, it felt like a nice tit, really.

The air in the room was still, even thought he'd left the door open in the off chance a breeze tried to saunter through. It was still, and the air was hot in a way that felt oppressive, and she shivered when the finger's between her legs traced the slit of her sex through cheap cotton.

He grinned against her neck, pressed teeth to it. Some of it might be fear, or nervousness, but getting a girl to shiver in temperatures that would turn most crustaceans bright red was still an ego stroke.

She tasted just the way she smelled but with a little bit of sun. He liked her sweating, like this. Maybe under him on the bed, pressed to it, smells getting ground in. He could hear it when she shifted to breathing through her mouth, and gave her breast a squeeze.

Wet cotton between her legs after another minute dragged itself past. Tangy, yeasty salty smell of her sex starting to override other mood indicators. He sucked a mark high on her neck, let his teeth scrape. Hard enough for her to make a startled sound. Hard enough there was just a trace of blood in his mouth now. She was very still, suddenly. It took the lack of motion for him to realize she'd been starting to try to ride his fingers.

He was hoping to enjoy her many times. Mental math as it related to the last time he got laid was actually a bit on the depressing side. He caught her nipple in a pinch that could be twisted into agonizing, and licked at her shoulder. Tightened his finger's and got a soft whimper out of her.

But she didn't say stop, or try to move away. He shifted his hand, thumbed her nipple soothingly and smiled against her skin with a hum.

Between her legs, he was tugging at cloth, pulling them down and putting his hand back without the pesky barrier. Trimmed but not shaven, he could feel it against his palm.

Tiny little jerk of her body when he slide a finger against her, natural lubrication making his path pretty direct. He smirked when she began to move against the friction again. It was a good thing, her little circular hip thrusts ground against his groin.

He waited until she made a noise like a hitch in her breathing. Then he stopped.

Kisame couldn't really step away without going outside. But he could lean back, suck on his fingers. Tangy. She almost fell over but there was nowhere to GO, so she just turned around instead.

Her panties were down low enough to show the entire triangle of dark curls, one breast with a reddened nipple half hiding behind a dress that was trying to slide free of her shoulder. She looked like sex in progress, and he put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a sharp shove backwards onto the bed.

She made that noise again, that surprised sound, but didn't try to sit up. Just shifted until her hair wasn't trapped under her shoulders, and was instead spread on the black-grey-white-brown wool coverlet. Just brought up a hand half hesitantly and pulled at cloth until her other breast was free and exposed, white cotton wadded under them, almost giving them lift.

Kisame noted this all while he pulled off his shirt. The tags and his beach-glass clattered when they swung back down and hit his chest. The garish scarf that had been trapping sweat in his ears and scalp went next.

He didn't do more than undo his pants, and put a knee on the bed. One foot between her legs, knee next to her hip. He caught one of her hands and pressed it to his half open fly, held it there a moment before he leaned down and bit at that freely given fresh expanse of skin. He put his weight on an elbow and let his tongue trace the swell, circle her nipple while her finger's fumbled at his pants.

She finally slide her hand down his belly so she could pull them open and away. Not much. Just enough that she could force a hand in to grab his cock. He groaned, hips jerking because FINALLY and she swallowed loud enough he still heard it over his own noises.

She gave him a stroke that was juts this side of unpleasant, air making her hand stick to delicate skin. Just this side of unpleasant was, fortunately, decidedly not bad. He claimed her mouth, and she started, under him, surprised, but as before, she relaxed quickly, yielded. Let his tongue stab into her mouth, stroke her teeth.

If he reached, he could put his hand back between her legs, sliding his finger's across her clit before pushing them into her. She moaned, hips jerking, hand stilling. If he bent his wrist, he could put his first two fingers in her to the third knuckle. She was. Tight enough, he supposed. She shuddered, and Kisame felt strong internal muscles ripple. He grinned, nipped at her lip. Yeah. Tight enough.

She brought a hand up, fingers in his hair. He pulled her other hand up, felt eight nails scrape his scalp when he pulled back.

There was some basic things that needed doing here. First he pulled her leg up, the one he wasn't straddling. High up, so her hips were almost on their side. The dress under her was crushed and limp and soaked with sweat, it was soaking into the wool under that. Kisame resolved to take the blanket with his when he left.

He didn't tear her panties off. He just got them, out of the way, shifted fully to his knee's so he could get that other hand free. She was drenched, sweat and musk dizzying now in the air. She didn't demand a condom, but he supposed the moment for that particular request had really been back in the alley anyway.

She didn't have anything dangerous on her anyway. The tip of his cock pressed against her, against heat.

Then he was sitting up, hips snapping, driving forward and she cried out and he gasped because fuck she was scalding. His finger's found her leg, above the knee and gripped, pulled, kept her arch from pulling her off him.

Maybe a little too fast. He thrust again anyway, making her breasts bounce. Her eyes were shut, brow furrowed, panting shallow and fast.

After, while he was recovering, he wanted to bury his face in her, use tongue and fingers and chakra if he had to, force another climax. See if he could make her pass out.

But that isn't now. Now is another hard jerk of his hips then stopping, waiting, leaning down to suck at the other side on her neck and smell her hair. Hiss in her ear on an exhale. Her hands came up, trying to hook his neck and he pinned them by her ears instead. Finger's at her wrists.

She struggled once, bit her lip and looked at him. Wide eyes, could see white almost all the way around them for a moment. A shift, not quite a struggle, made her hips roll and Kisame grinned, nose to nose with her now. She swallowed and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Let her head drop back down. "Alright, plea-aah!" because his lips had jerked again, hard, and this time it wasn't a singular, testing motion to startle her, to make her feel him, it was a bone rattling rhythm that had her arching then pleading.

Her cheeks went first, the red that had been lingering becoming vivid. Sweat stood out on her forehead, ran into her hair where it stuck to her skull. The time spent just touching her had been well wasted because he could feel the juice of her, on his thighs, on her thighs, smearing, spreading, and even if she was tight, even if when her muscles tried to clench, there was still that hot slide.

Kisame watched her bite her lip again, drawing blood this time as her struggle became more, productive. He licked at the red dribble while she shoved her hips against him, at him, whimpering when it worked and he went deep. Whimpering again when he sucked at her lip, teeth grazing the little cut and making it bigger.

He could fell her nipples against his chest with each motion.

He fucked into her until he came, hands tightening to the point of bruising, kept fucking into her until he was spent, till he slumped on her, pinned her to the bed.

Chicken feather wool and hay mattress. She whimpered, needfully this time, the woman knew a whole dialect of whining. He started to shift, see about getting her off but she was already tensing and as soon as he gave her half an inch her hand was down, between them, worrying her flesh. He could feel her fingertips on the top of his cock. Could feel the spasms a few seconds later all around his half hard length when she came.

Oh, good, he thought, slumping back onto her, letting the sex smells and fluids get into the bed.

He did move to the side, after a minute, but it was only to pull fully out of her, lay at her side on the narrow cot and let her get her underwear properly off.

"Leave the dress?" he requested, when she moved to undo the few buttons holding it on her.

She nodded, put her arms back in the sleeves and laid down. Shivered when his hand touched her, again, pushing the dress open a little. Tracing where the dress cast a shadow on her skin. Up her jaw, tracing her lips a moment.

Then back to her body, stroking over the cloth, then under it. A sort of contrast in textures, if you will. "Still think you can afford to be safe?" He asked, tracing a soft pink circle of a nipple until the skin crinkled into a nub just begging to be pinched.

She nodded. "I can pay until morning," she said, hands starting to settle on her stomach, on the bridge of cloth over her navel.

He thought about moving them, posing her like a doll. But didn't. Just then. Kept his hand roaming, along her arms now. Her legs shifted, a little, one hooked with his. The other opened a bit, dangling at the knee off the bed, toes on the terra cotta floor. He could hear them scrape, along with the tip of her shoe.

Still had those shoes on. He smiled, like there was a secret joke involved. No earring. No rings. Another thing bit of string with beads and colored thread around her wrist that he hadn't noticed before. Hair stuck to her neck. He traced a scar on the back of her knuckles, a small one. Found another, a grease splash sort of scar. Tiny things, inconsequential scars that normal people got doing normal things poorly.

"What's your name?" she asked, a trace of timid there, like she expected to be hushed again.

"Hoshigaki," he said, honestly, because it didn't matter. "Hoshigaki Kisame."

She started to open her mouth, tell him her name, but he stopped her. "Later," he said, sitting up. Looking at her legs. One crossed and hooked with his, the other open. He slide a hand up from the knee, felt the wet fluid still on her thigh. Which made sense. It wasn't going to evaporate, in this air. At least night would be cooler, a ocean breeze stealing warmth. He wondered what her story was, exactly for the way she went still when his finger's were teasing at her lips, pushing them open and brushing past wet curls. Ah, condom free sex. Good messy fun.

She didn't sit up, but she put her elbows down, lifted herself a bit. Probably just trying to get air to her back, where the dress would be sticking like a second skin.

He'd probably never see a yellow dress again without remembering warm calcium smells and getting hard. Good thing it wasn't standard shinobi uniform. He stopped, laying back down to lift his hips, finally shoving his pants off, tossing them so they spread out on the floor.

She shifted closer. Not that there was anywhere else to go, but she turned to her side, a little, fit her head on his shoulder. Set a hand on his stomach, light as a feather. Lifted it, moved it decidedly farther south.

A small grunt of approval was really all the more reaction he felt up to just then. Her mouth opened, pressed to his skin while her hand mapped him. Her breath felt almost cool on him, but her tongue was still hot.

Her legs moved, slide against his, and she was hooking one again, pressing her hips to his side. He could smell her, through the gills starting just below his ribs. Could feel the brush of her hair on his shoulder and again against his hip. She swallowed, pressed her hips closer.

Not quite a grind, but he could feel wet and warm and turned to kiss her hair. "Tell me a name now."

"Ivu," she lied. He didn't really care. If he'd wanted honesty he'd have taken the big drunk asshole back with him instead.

"Ivu," he repeated, but didn't bother to apply the name to her mentally. She was 'she, her, the woman, the girl' but she certainly wasn't an 'Ivu'.

She smiled up at him, nodded.

"I'm gonna eat you till you scream now, then," he said, hand pushing her hair back from her face, then tangling in it, pulling her up to eye level, again. She blinked, looking, concerned for a minute, then confused. He rolled his eyes. "Your cunt, you dense slut," he clarified. "You might be quieter as a snack but that's not what I meant."

"Oh," she said, then blushed. "I, thought you. With your teeth and... I don't want to be eaten, like, like a shrimp,"

He let her babble till he got bored. It didn't take long. "No, you're going to be eaten like an oyster," he tugged her hair, and added, "To date, I've never accidentally bitten out someone's pearl." He showed her nearly all of his teeth, when he said that, both to imply that one, it might have happened on purpose, and two, to show that not biting out her clit was really a engineering nightmare.

He could see a honest unease, behind her eyes, that was pushed back, replaced with the same wide look at would result in her submitting in another heartbeat, or two.

She started to bite her lip, remembered it had already been bitten quite a bit today, and stopped. "Aren't I supposed to be paying you?"

"You sold your body for the night, I can do whatever I want to it," he retorted, rolling her to her back. It meant she was half off the bed, again. "That includes this." He man handled her till she was half sitting against the wall, one hand up and behind her head gripping the windowsill, the other knotted in the case of the pillow. Legs pushed WIDE open, now, red folds glistening.

Such wide green eyes, startled look in them. She managed the first syllable of his name when his mouth started on her breasts, but it ended in a squeak when teeth grazed. He'd left a bouquet worth of red welts by the time he was moving down. Another bloomed on her hip bone, as he was pushing her dress away.

Then his hands were pressed to her thighs, forcing them open, thumbs pinning her labia open like a new breed of butterfly. From this angle he could see her in all her gruesome, wonderful detail. For about two seconds before he was pressing his tongue to her, a wide, flat swipe for general tasting purposes. Then again, more finesse this time, circling those inner lips. He could taste himself, sure, but he was in good shape and disease free. It was an easy to ignore sort of spice.

If he'd felt like being honest out loud he'd have said her wanted to plant his nose and cheek gills in her crotch to try to figure her smell out.

He made his tongue a point, pushed it into her deep as he could manage, chasing lubricant and semen. Thrusting, feeling the texture of her.

Kisame's tongue was average length.

It wasn't rougher, or smoother, or more flexible, than most peoples. He'd kissed enough other people to be pretty secure in this self assessment.

But he could hold his breath a very long time. He could inhale through the gills on his cheeks instead of his nose. He could stay down quite a long time. This, if nothing else, was a definite advantage in the world of competitive muff diving. A stroke across her clit, indirect, just, up, then back into her. Irregular.

He wasn't doing it for her, after all. He liked the feel when she tensed, the noise she made when he stopped, when his slide his tongue into her, the way the walls of her twitched and rippled, pulsed. Circle, stroke, penetrate (insomuch as a tongue can penetrate) and repeat.

She was starting in with his name again when he stopped tasting himself in her. Her clit had swollen, hard and round, and every time he felt it her breathing either stopped or squeaked out. He could almost hear the creak of the window still when her grip started to twist it, nails going loose.

Strong, he thought, amused. Stronger than she looks, and starting to loose enough control it's showing.  
  
Yeah, he was a bit smug. He chuckled deep in his throat, let his stroke get more direct, lips moving, letting him suck.

The clitoris is the most male part of the female anatomy. The foreskin, the most female of the male. Kisame wondered if that was what made them so much fun. She was close now, he could feel it in her muscles, in her breathing, in her scent, in the way her energy moved inside her skin, crackling and tangling and knotting and going taunt like a bow-string ready to snap.

So he stopped.

Before she had time to scream in frustration his hands had her hips, thumbs leaving dents on her hip bones. He didn't pull her to him, he moved to her, reburied himself in her, bent her nearly double in the corners made by wall and bed. She made a noise like dying, and he felt her nails sink into his arms as she scrabbled, cursed his name and tried desperately to get her legs to hook behind his back. A jerk, and she was more on the wall that then bed, body curled to one side because her shoulder was caught on the window sill.

I love honey-trap girls, Kisame thought, breathing in the smell of her hair. You can do whatever you want to them, and you don't have to feel bad about it.  
  
He tangled a hand in her hair, a wrist with the other. Snarled at her throat.

Her heel hit his back. She was screaming now, not as loud as she could, chest under pressure from the angle. Strangled screams, but her free hand was still clawing him in, not trying to push, so naturally he assumed that if she was in any stated to speak coherently, of COURSE she'd be asking for more, harder, faster. The scratches she left stung in his sweaty hide.

This time her breathing stopped when she came. Her face was red, startlingly so, red as the blood on her lips. Red as his blood under her nails. Her eyes didn't shut, but the whites were pink, tiny vessels in them popping like someone was wringing her neck. It made the creamy jade of her unfocused irises stunning, almost unreal behind a partial veil of stray hairs.

He was still admiring them when he came, spine arching. Orgasm strong enough his illusionary skin shifted, a little, and the false fleshy tan sprouted a dusting of freckles. Those last few frantic, involuntary hip jerks made her head hit the wall with a low thud. Made dress tear when it caught the edge of the window sill wrong because he was pushing her up an extra few inches.

He relaxed, slowly. Muscles in his back settling, hand unclenching itself from her hair, sliding down her neck to settle over a breast because... just because, really.

He kept a grip on her wrist thought, forehead to the wall, mouth at her ear. Her breathing was still ragged, sucking in each breath like she'd finished a marathon. She pulled her nails out of his skin. Set her hand over his.

He took a deep breath, as composed as he was really gonna get, kissed her ear. "What's your name?"

"Ivu."

"No, no, your real name, not the one you made up to go with this cute little act."

She didn't tense. Her brow knitted, and she tried to focus on his face. "Whaa?" she asked, muzzily.

He kissed her. Licked her teeth. Set his nose to hers, so all he could see was green, and all she could see was gold and black. "I had you made when I saw you let that asshole hit you. You'd been distracted by me, right? Noticed me after wasting all that time on the big brute? Didn't realize he was going to hit you fast enough to just take it without thinking, you had to falter a second. Had to let him," and he knew he was right, because her scent had spiked even if her face, hell, her heart rate had stayed even. He took a moment to breath, still feeling winded. "You're the most amazing actress I've ever met. I don't know if you're freelance assassin, certified hunter, missing nin or what but you're wasting yourself."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," she said, looking dismayed and afraid. Not the right sort of fear, which should be the fear of a fighter who knows they're about to get hit, but her eyes filled with the confused fear of a wounded animal. He pinched her nipple sharply. "C'mon, beautiful, game's over let's make the next part as agreeable as we can, don't you think?"

She gave a soft whimper, started to say please, then stopped, abruptly.

Without moving any part of her self more than the barest fraction of a nano-meter, she straightened up, eyes focusing. Some of naivety fell off of her, her eyes sharpened.

"And what do you think the next part is, mist-traitor," she asked, and while it was the same voice, it was a different person speaking now.

(A/N: It's worth noting that mist-traitor in the language she's using actually translates to 'naughty tadpole' and the use of it as a term for mist-originating missing nin has cracked said missing nin up for decades.)

Kisame smiled thumbed her nipple and let his own mask fall. She didn't bat an eye at the sudden expanse of blue. "How much did they have to inject into your chakra centers to repress it that much?" he inquired.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, your control is amazing, really, you came like a dam bursting but your chakra didn't flare above civilian even for a second," Kisame continued, ignoring her denial. "I can't believe your chakra's naturally that weak, I mean, if I feel for it, I get the sense you're not quite, whole," and she she started to lie again, his hand on her breast tightened. "Don't lie."

"Supressents," She said, lifting her chin a little. "And I'm just that good."

"You really are," he said, admiringly. "Wasted on dirty work like this, though the private performances could make you rich if you'd just lay off the talking. D'ya have a whole backstory made up for Ivu the tainted dove?"

She was quite a moment, sullen. "Yes," she said finally, with the tone of someone who didn't want to give out the information but couldn't think of a single reason not too other than pride.

"It showed in the execution," he said, perfectly aware she was only telling him to avoid other questions.

"You have a bizarre interrogation style."

"Oh if you rather I shove boiling water up your ass and tie you to a rock for the gulls for a day we can do that," Kisame said. "But you're being honest now. I'll listen to Ivu's tragic life story if you like, now that it's you telling it."

"You're still IN me," she said. "And you want me to tell you a story?"

"Being violated it really the least of your problems right now, isn't it? You're basically a glorified whore as it stands," he said, inhaling slowly. "Really good actor," he repeated, is if in awe,, a bit. "So how's this usually work for you? You go in unarmed, hell, a bit neutered really, fuck the guy, maybe a few girls, and get their trust? Get their guard down, map out their location, tell a partner, maybe the rest of your team?"

She didn't answer.

He sighed, and looked at her, tried to decide what part of her body he liked the least, and decided that just routing power to his hand, putting near breaking pressure on her wrist, was enough.

Her eyes widened, perhaps, but her jaw set.

"I rather you just tell me," Kisame said, a soft mumble against her ear. She tried to bite him and failed when his hand went from her breast to her throat, squeezing.

His heart was speeding up again. He grinned, felt life return almost belligerently between his legs. "Do you do this job cause the hazards pay's great, or do you just, like it when us big bad sadists get our hands on you?" he asked as her legs kicked and she struggled briefly. Brief, but fierce, her free arm attempting a strike. His hand tightened till her face was nearly purple and her eyes stood out like frog eggs. Then it loosened, and in those few seconds where all she could do was gasp

"You can't even call for help, can you?" he asked, tone mild, gentle and holding back a sinister sort of glee.

She coughed. "Fuck you," she said, then seemed to consider that and stopped there. When her body stopped squirming, he rolled his hips and she glared.

He nodded in agreement, smile almost hurting his cheeks now. "Tell me how it's supposed to work?" His hand moved from her writ to her hand, held it, thumb in her palm.

When she didn't answer he broke a bone. Just used his fingers and snapped one of the bones in her hand. She tensed, didn't scream.

"I won't ruin you, I don't think," Kisame said, using mass and weight and angles to immobilizer her further. If he got that foot under himself, he could put THAT knee on her free hand, against the wall. "But I will hurt you very badly, go through all your orifices, and leave you in the street drugged to the gills for the next man to have."

If she could call for help, she would have. She was too talented to leave behind at the first sign of danger. "Or are you alone? Do you wait till they fall asleep on you, choke them?" he pressed at the fast swelling palm, and she tensed in a way that made him sigh.

From the look she gave him, she could feel that. He didn't really care.

"You don't have to talk yet," he added, giving another roll of his hips. Watching her breasts, belly, cramped together in her near fetal curl. He started to choke her again, watched her try to suck in one last scrap of air. He held it long, this time, until he was sure her vision had tunneled, then released.

She'd have a rich collar of purple if she lived long enough.

"How about your name, then. Your real name?"

She spat in his face.

There wasn't a gradual tightening this time, he let her see pure murder in his eyes and throttled her. A trace of honest fear bleed out through her pores, and she kicked, thrashed, all in all generated a spine tingling amount of stimulation straight to his dick.

She was almost unconscious when he let her breathe again this time. Not that her state had anything to do with the illusion of mercy. He just didn't want her dead yet and if he'd gotten any closer to coming he'd have snapped her spine.

As it was he thought he might have broken another bone in her hand. He panted in time with her, cheeks flushed to purple and checked. Yep, two more, actually but she was trying to hard to breath to even focus on it right now.

His thumb circled her palm. Gently. Pressing swelling flesh and blooming colors. "Your name, if you please?"

She jerked her head to the side, with a gasp. He rolled his eyes and started to tense his hand again, but she squeaked out something that was close enough to a 'wait' for him to do just that. She was struggling to say a word, so he leaned in, a little.

Fear smell was tart, bitter. He didn't like it on her, he took a deep drink of the scent of her hair and pressed his gills shut, focused on that instead. She might not mind rough sex and being controlled but choking was definitely not her fetish.

"Scout," she managed.

"S'interesting name."

"No, M'a scout," she coughed, swallowed, winced. Took a deep inhale. "I hunt, locate and confirm targets."

"Who are you working for?"

"Dunno," she started, and he put his hand over her face. Over her mouth and nose, and shoved her skull into the wall.

She struggled, again, he could feel her flat dull teeth on his palm.

Crumbled of plaster hit his pillow.

"I don't know!" She snarled when he pulled his hand away. He almost didn't hear her, the thud-thud of his heartbeat getting louder. "Not the one that takes the jobs."

"Hmm."

"I hunt, locate, confirm. We regroup, discuss, and then act," she added.

"What village?"

"Moss."

"There is no moss."

"There was," she said, through gritted teeth. "Most of it was crushed a hundred years ago by the war between sand and grass, but a few families got away."

Kisame perked. "A nomadic village, that's fascinating," he said.

Then he was squeezing her hand till she screamed, covering her eyes as he lowered his head. Teeth sinking into collarbone, body working until he'd emptied himself into her was a snarl and a mouth full of blood.

The biting had been a bad idea. She didn't taste as good hurt and cornered, even if that root essence was still there. Like milk, maybe. Heavy cream.

He loosened his grip, a little, and she whimpered.

Pulled out, pulled away.

Felt her start to tense, to attack while she perceived his guard to be down. "Don't make me gut you," he said, looking up sharply.

She stopped, mouth a thin white line.

"You'd be an amazing actress," he repeated. "I mean that." He pulled her hand, to his mouth, kissing her knuckle. He braced himself mentally, because if just blood was bad this was going to be dismal, and bit off her little finger.

Kinda like eating squirrel really. He was glad she had short groomed nails it made swallowing easier.

She looked too shocked to scream. Either the pain or the imagery. "Be a whore if you have to," he continued, in much the same tone of voice. or as close as he could manage. He reached behind himself, looked away, feeling safe enough, and found her bra. Held it to the stump. "Or an actress. But find a different line of work."

She didn't fight back when he put an hand on her shoulder, dug his fingers into pressure points that made her eyes roll up, into her head.

He bandaged the finger. More or less.

Drugged her so she'd stay down a day, or so.

Broke her legs with a cloth covered swing of samehada, set them.

Took her dress off and considered it carefully. Almost reverently.

Some fear on it.

Mostly sex though.

He'd really never be able to look at yellow dresses the same way again. He hung it carefully on the clothesline outside the door.

Then he dressed, left.

There wasn't much else to do.

Besides. It was too fucking hot here. Maybe he'd try north this time.

. for reference later.

DarkVonBunny: I read both your fics! Ye GODS, woman. You KILL me for Kisame in the Thirty one. And the South one... yow. Love it. It's a great reminder of how Kisame is Not A Good A Guy--the finger bit! And breaking legs and strangling... man oh man, that was all fantastic and dark and brutal. I love the twist regarding the woman as well.

me: Yay!

Peer reveiws as received while in the process of writing this.

Andy: *is incoherent glob of fapping goo*

11:13 AM Ivy: purr you need to write het more often, woman!

Ivy: :D

12:46 PM srsly needs to be more yummy het kisa fics out there

Meghan: Hurhurhur, Kisame is such a /man/

. I'd so let him do me))


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